


Illuminate me out of the dark

by FancifulRivers



Series: Dispelling shadows, or: take 3 hurt children, a handful of dust, and stir well [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Disabled Character, Frisk Uses Sign Language, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced No Mercy, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Misgendering, Nonbinary Character, Nonverbal Frisk, Other, Post Pacifist Route, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quasiplatonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Relationships, Teenage Chara, Teenage Frisk, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:28:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6857002/chapters/15651325">"Shine your light with me, chase all the dark away"</a> and will not make very much sense if you have not read that first.</p><p>AU.</p><p>Flowey doesn't know what he wanted, but he's sure it wasn't this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sometimes I see

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "The Dark" by Simon Curtis, because why not? The first story was titled by the sequel to this song, so this one is...never mind, I'm confusing myself. :P
> 
> This picks up about where the first left off.

You open your mouth, ready to snap at the idiot dinosaur who probably broke your pot and freeze because-

Well. 

The pot is  _definitely_ broken, but you don't think you can blame it on Alphys anymore. You look down, after-images still dazzling your vision, expecting vivid poison green.

Soft fur meets your disbelieving eyes. You touch the terracotta shards gently with a paw, not a leaf.

"Asriel?" Chara whispers. You whip around, nearly falling flat on your ass, and they jerk back from you like your fur has burned them.

"Chara," you husk and even your  _voice_ is different, it's rougher, lower, like you've been through some half-assed version of puberty when you weren't looking, when you were busy playing shitty video games and photosynthesizing.

The room beyond is so quiet, you almost forget anyone else is there until Frisk touches your elbow gently to get your attention. You nearly snarl at them, nearly tell them to fuck off because can't they see they're  _interrupting_ , but then you remember you're not a soulless flower anymore (even if that's only  _just_ occurred), and you stop, resisting the urge to clap a paw over your mouth, like you did when you were small and fighting not to tell Mom and Dad about some imagined transgression.

 _Are you okay?_ Frisk signs.  _I mean, are you injured?_

You open your mouth to say of course not, when Chara nudges you abruptly and points down. There's blood on your fur, because of course there is, and now that you see it, you're aware of the pain, throbbing and sharp, because apparently it hurts to explode out of a flower pot into another creature's shape.

"Asriel?" Toriel says, and your head jerks up, and you can see she's crying, and Dad's crying too, but it doesn't matter because-

Because you pitch forward into Frisk in a dead faint, and everything goes black after that.

* * *

 

It's not fair.

When you escape, you find a place, somewhere far away from anyone else in the underground, where no one else can hear you, and you scream and rage and destroy it as best as you can with only roots and leaves and vines, a shitty broken flower with determination burning through leafy veins. 

Chara's  _gone_ and it's  _all your fault_.

If you weren't so  _weak_...

If you weren't such a  _useless crybaby..._

You couldn't even  _fight back_.

"In this world," you say aloud some interminable time later, when you're limp and exhausted, huffing for breath. "It's kill or be killed."

You don't really believe it though.

Not yet.

* * *

When you wake up, you're in Mom's bed and Chara's sitting next to you, stroking your hand with both of theirs. It surprises you because they've never been so tactile before, but then again, you've also never seen them with so many tear stains on their cheeks. 

"He's awake," they call to someone else in the room. It's Mom and you're surprised that your eyes get blurry when you see her, her arms full of medical supplies. You're so used to being Flowey, so used to having your emotions so muted, they might as well be in another galaxy.

"Mom," you whisper before you can stop yourself, and she nearly drops her armful all over your legs.

"My child," she says warmly. "I don't know how- I'm so glad you're here."

 _I've always been here,_ your mind points out scornfully.  _Was I not lovable as a little yellow flower, Mommy? Did I not_ count _because you couldn't rock me and read me bedtime stories and give me baths? Were you sad your little_ crybaby _was_ soulless _?_

You ignore it the best you can. You know what she means. It was different when you were a flower. Your memories of being Flowey aren't as clear as you'd like, but you know she cared about you. She wouldn't have taken you in, if she didn't.

Still, you lay back and stare at the ceiling while she tends to your injuries. Chara doesn't speak now, just holds onto your wrist. You don't know where Frisk is. Or what happened to the party. Did everyone go home?

"Where's Dad?" you blurt out, your cheeks reddening when Toriel jerks.

"The living room," Chara answers before Mom can. "He's waiting for you to be all fixed up."

"Oh," you mumble. You should have known that. It's not like Dad can even  _fit_ in here, not with Mom and Chara and you all sprawled out. It's not like it's...home.

Nothing will be home, ever again, and it's all your fault.

* * *

 

After, when Toriel has taken the snot-nosed little human away, and you slip into the shadows to nurse your wounds in private, you admit that _perhaps_ you were a little meaner than you could have been. You're not usually so aggressive right off the bat. It's more fun to be nice, to lure them into a sense of security, before you betray them, before your friendliness pellets perforate their pathetic little SOUL and they're lying at your roots. 

Especially when you can do it again and again and again-

But this one. You scowl in the direction of the Ruins. A striped sweater and a stick held in one sweaty hand. Band aids on their knees and messy hair. Stupid red SOUL. Stupid Determination.

If you can't even tell the truth to yourself, what's the point? Laughter bubbles in what passes for your throat as you sink back into the dirt. You know why you're so angry, why you lost control. It's not their determination.

It's because for one painful, shining moment, you thought Chara had come back for you. 


	2. Things I shouldn't see

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been an eternity, hasn't it?

Humans are bad.

Chara's a human, but they might as well be a monster in human disguise. Their eyes are red like yours and now they wear a striped sweater  _just like_ yours. They like to color with you and even indulge your make believe games. You know they think your games are dumb, but they still play with you, and they even let you  _win_. 

They tell you that humans are bad, too. That all humans are bad, even them, but you can't agree with that. Maybe all the other humans just don't understand that Chara's not really a human after all. Chara's the sibling you never had. Even when they make fun of you.

"God of Hyper Death?" Chara asks, bending over with the force of their laughter. You stiffen, your paws unconsciously landing on furry hips.

"What?" You demand. You hate the wobble in your voice.

"It's just so-" Chara waves their hands around, trying to demonstrate their point. "So  _dramatic_."

"What's wrong with that?" You ask, bewildered. Chara straightens up, obviously still trying to subdue their laughter.

"Nothing, Ree," they tell you. "Nothing's wrong with it."

* * *

 

You get your own room.

You suppose it makes sense. The room's already crowded with Frisk and Chara sharing it, and it isn't like you can spend the night on the windowsill anymore. The room's next door, and everyone does their best to make it feel homey. Frisk draws you tons of flowers and tapes them up on the walls, and Chara has found a green-and-yellow-striped blanket somewhere out in the mall. You can't believe they went to the mall for you. They hate shopping. Sans fills your bedside drawer with ketchup packets and you secretly give them back to Mom, so they can find a better home in the kitchen. You appreciate the thought, though.

It's nice, and you feel bad for it, but you hate it all. You don't  _want_ to have your own room. You don't  _want_ to be across the hall from Frisk and Chara, feeling like the locket burning against your heart is missing its twin. You don't want  _any_ of this and sometimes, even if you can only admit it to yourself, you wish that you were a flower again.

Being a monster again is  _hard_. Having a soul again is even harder. All these emotions keep jostling and clanging inside your skull, giving you a headache and making you feel like your fur is going to split open and release it all out into the air. It doesn't help your memories are just as jumbled up, especially of the time  _before_ the barrier broke, so sometimes you feel like you're supposed to slam dunk Sans into the dirt and other times you feel like you're trying to tell the King and Queen again that their son has reincarnated into a shitty talking flower, and it never, ever worked out the way you wanted it to.

"Ree?" You look up, desultory, from the Rubix Cube you were playing with and toss it to one side. Papyrus gave it to you to try, and you admit that playing with it is kind of fun. Although it's nothing like your Gameboy.

Chara's standing in your doorway, fidgeting from foot to foot the way they do when they're  _really_ nervous, but don't want to admit it. 

"Can I come in?" Chara asks, and your eyebrows nearly fly into your fur because Chara  _never_ asks to come in.

"Yeah, sure," you say, and they sidle in, a little clumsy. It makes your stomach hurt to see how messed up they are sometimes because you can't help but feel like it's your fault. If you hadn't given them the buttercups...if you had just  _told_... You shake your head a little, clearing it of the bad thoughts. "What's up?"

"I've been talking to Alphys," Chara says, fingers knitting together over and over. "She's been trying to figure out how you er- well, became you." They flap a hand at your fur.

"It might be my fault," Chara admits in a very low voice. "I just- I wanted you to be safe and not hurt and I- I was  _determined_ and-"

"It's okay," you interrupt, but Chara slams their fists down on their thighs hard.

"No, it's not," they insist, voice hot. "You didn't get a choice. I- I might have made it for you, and that's not fair, and I'm." They stop, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry," they finish, staring at the carpet.

"It's okay," you say again. Your eyes are suspiciously damp and you wipe them with the back of one paw before Chara looks up again.  _Crybaby._ "Seriously, Chara, even if it was you, it's not like you knew what would happen. And I don't think it's good for flowers to get smashed on the floor."

"No, that would have sucked," Chara admits. "For you, anyway. And Mom, having to clean all the dirt off the carpet."

"Nice of you to think of my root system," you say, laughing as you shove Chara's shoulder. After a moment, they shove you back.

* * *

You've done this a thousand times before. You know it won't go right. The way you want it to. You don't know why you bother. 

But you just- Maybe if you phrase it  _just_ the right way-

You come up on her quietly. You've learned that's the best way to start it. Being loud only frightens or angers her, and Mom in a mad state of mind doesn't listen, not the way she should. You think maybe that's part of why she's here and Dad's- Well, Dad's not.

"Toriel?" You say, leaves trembling with nerves. You also know better than to call her "Mom" straight off the bat, too. That  _also_ doesn't go well. Actually, the first time you said it, she tried to stomp you, almost on impulse, and it was sheer luck you dodged away in time.

"Oh," she says in surprise, turning. She's been gardening, and there's dirt on the hem of her dress. She pulls off her gardening gloves, giving you an assessing, yet still friendly, look. "I've never met you before. What's your name?"

"I'm Flowey," you tell her, because saying 'Asriel' doesn't feel right (and it also makes her angry, you've learned that, too. It just makes your dad start crying). "Flowey the Flower."

"It's nice to meet you, Flowey," she says, putting out a paw for you to shake. Your leaf is a poor substitute. "What brings you here?"

"A story," you say. "Of determination."

Her gaze sharpens, just a bit, but you pretend you don't notice.

It doesn't go well this time either. This time, she cries and her snout quivers and she insists, in a hate-filled whisper, that you are not her son, could never  _be_ her son.

"My son is  _dead_ ," she hisses at you, and it is so hard not to launch a cavalcade of Friendliness Pellets at her, to show her that she can join her damned kid if she won't believe you.

Instead, blinded with rage and something that feels like sadness, you launch your roots at the 'reset' button.

 


End file.
